


Wide Open

by indoissetep



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars: Before the Awakening - Greg Rucka
Genre: Angst, I don't believe in the word kriffing, Injury, M/M, So much angst, cursing, flip - Freeform, slip pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoissetep/pseuds/indoissetep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation set after the sparring session in Before the Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> My goal in life is to write as much FN-2187/Slip as I can. It is a hard but noble goal.

The lights overhead were blinding.

The chatter from the other cadets deafening.

The stab of pain that ran straight through his head unbearable.

His tongue a throbbing swollen lump inside his mouth.

FN-2003 had spent the last ten minutes gritting his teeth and forcing down the vomit that threatened to rise in his throat. Everyone was already eyeing him strangely, snickering and whispering when his back was turned. He would not give them even more to talk about by being sick all over the locker room floor. He would not give them that satisfaction.

So he sat down like a dead weight on the bench and put his head in his hands to try and will the world to stop tipping. He breathed slowly through his nose to fight down a fresh wave of nausea, and told himself to _fucking get it together, Slip_.

But he could still feel their eyes on the back of his neck, hear their voices and their snickering, and damn it if that didn’t make him feel sicker.

And he could hear FN-2187’s voice above his head and above all others, worried and insistent.

“Slip... Slip.”

“What, Eight-seven?!” he spat, too brusquely and too loudly, only to regret it a second later. Pain shot up from his jaw, his tongue, and the loudness of his own voice pounded inside his skull. But worst of all was looking up and seeing the look of hurt and surprise in 2187’s eyes.

_Sorry._

The word was poised at the very edge of Slip’s tongue, but he bit it back.

_As long as you don’t bite your fucking tongue in half again, idiot..._

He screwed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at 2187 or at those blasted, blinding lights. He resolved to rest his head in his hands again, but FN-2187 was crouching in front of him, gently pulling his hands away.

“C’mon, lemme see,” he urged. The wounded look had already faded from his eyes, in its place only concern.

He examined the ugly bruise that was spreading over Slip’s jaw, then pressed something cold and soothing against it. Ice. Slip had no idea how he’d managed to get his hands on some. He might have bummed some from whomever was on duty in the kitchens. He might have stepped out into the freezing cold to grab it. Trust FN-2187 to do something stupid like that.

The thought made him smile.

He kept the ice pack pressed to Slip’s jaw with one hand, and let his other hand wander up to his temple. FN-2187’s palms always felt oddly warm and soft, despite the years worth of calluses they had all earned. He ran his fingers through Slip’s damp hair, slow and careful. Slip grimmaced when his fingers found the lump where TK-1006’s pike had nearly split his helmet and his head in two.

“TK-1006 should get a reprimand. There was no need to hit you that hard,” he said, with a crease between his eyebrows. His hand had wondered to the back of Slip’s head, nails grazing against his scalp.

Slip nearly sighed.

“He was just committed to the exercise. I was stupid. I left my guard wide open.”

“No, you didn’t. I was watching you the whole time. Your form was perfect,” said 2187, no trace of insincerity in his voice.

“Yeah, well...” he mumbled, suddenly unable to look straight at 2187, “I wasn’t good enough.”

_When have you ever been good enough?_

“Slip...”

For a second, it seemed like FN-2187 would go on, but he let the word hang between them, no follow up.

His fingers were still rubbing through Slip’s hair, spilling warmth down his spine. For the billionth time in his life, Slip found himself staring at FN-2187’s lips and wanting to touch them.

Would it really kill him to lean across a few inches of air and press their lips together, to finally find out what FN-2187’s mouth tasted like?

He wouldn’t get a chance to find out this time. The other man had gotten to his feet and was offering him a hand to help him up.

“Let me take you to medical. I think you might have a concussion.”

Going to medical was the last thing Slip needed right now. Another failing on his already unenviable record. Risking being laid up in a bed when the rest of his team finally got deployed. And the fear of being decommissioned piled on top of everything else.

No, thanks. He’d pass.

“I’m fine,” he batted the hand away lightly.

“Slip, don’t be stupid, come on...”

FN-2187’s hand on his arm was gentle, but Slip would have sworn it actually burned him. Something inside him certainly ignited.

“I said I’m fine, Eight-seven! Fuck off!”

Standing, he shoved FN-2187 away from him with all the strength he could muster. Laughably little, but it was enough.

“I’m just trying to help you!” FN-2187 spat back, and Slip enjoyed a brief wave of satisfaction at seeing that he’d finally managed to get a rise out of the other man. Though that feeling was quickly drowned by his own anger.

“I don’t need your help! And I don’t need you treating me like a fucking baby all the time!”

FN-2187’s mouth flew open with an affronted sound, but Slip cut him off before he could actually say anything.

“Do you think I didn’t see how you were toying with me out there? How you almost let me win? Why did you change your mind, huh? Didn’t want everyone to think you were pathetic enough to lose to _me_?

“What?! That’s not-“

“Then why? Tell me!” curse his voice for breaking.

And curse him for being such a coward. He couldn’t bear to wait for 2187’s reply. He turned towards the door and made a decided effort to walk away, but he had only taken a few steps before he had to stop and brace a hand against the wall as the world wobbled dangerously.

_Pathetic._

His head swam and his vision grew dim. Fuck, he was cold.

“Slip!” FN-2187 was taking his hand, squeezing it tightly like they’d been doing their whole lives. Like they would every time one of them felt weak or scared.

Slip shook the hand off violently.

“Leave me alone, Eight-seven,” he turned on the other cadet, trying to put as much venom as he could behind eyes that were growing blurry and dark around the edges, “I don’t need your fucking pity and I don’t need you to keep holding my hand all the damn time.”

He shoved his way past 2187 and towards the door. If he had to pass out, he’d first put as much distance between himself and FN-2187 as he possibly could. But his head actually decided to clear somewhat.

He told himself he’d done the right thing, that he was finally showing some spine and fiber. He could still be the soldier nobody expected him to become. He would stand or fall on his own.

Still, a part of him longed for the time when he could hold Eight-seven’s hand without feeling like he was dragging the other boy down. When he didn’t feel like a complete failure for even wanting to do so.

_Grow up, Slip. You’re not children anymore._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always much appreciated. Please feel free to scream at me.


End file.
